Vindication
by Jennifer Hart
Summary: He knows what she did and is going to make sure she pays.


**Title: Vindication**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Classification: Suspense**

**Disclaimer: I know Rule #3 is Never Believe What You're Told, but Gibbs also says "Always anticipate." Well, who do you ****anticipate**** a story on a site labeled "fanfiction" is going to be owned by?**

**Spoilers: **_**Last Man Standing**_** (Season 6), **_**Tribes **_**& . Set between **_**Last Man Standing**_** and **_**Agent Afloat**_**.**

**Summary: He knows what she did and is going to make sure she pays.**

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_It's official. According to the clock I have now been dead for 78 hours. I think it's time._

_I suppose I could have acted sooner, but I wanted to wait. I wanted to watch. Watch my killer come to work the first day, pretending everything was normal. Watching her believe she has finally gotten the approval from the others, that she's really been accepted. Watch her face each morning. What's the matter, sweetheart? Not sleeping well? Killing an innocent man will do that to you._

_It almost makes me laugh. I watched her for four months and I never saw her like this. Every morning she'd come walking in, her face fresh and well-rested. Never mind that the rest of us were sometimes operating on coffee, Red Bull, Jolt, CAFF-POW, and caffeine pills ― sometimes all in the same day. It didn't matter what happened ― nothing interfered with her perfectly ordered little world, where you go to work, come home, and sleep exactly eight hours, every night. Which is something of an achievement, I suppose, given that she worked for Gibbs._

_Her little world isn't working so perfectly anymore though. Today she had to go to my memorial service. That was fun. I saw her sitting there in the third row, looking like the dutiful NCIS agent with an appropriately somber face. Well, what she thought was somber. Looked more like afraid to me._

_You think you're afraid now, Michelle? Oh, just you wait._

_Ah, 1:02 A.M. Now you're really going to be afraid_.

XXXXX

Michelle was out of bed and halfway across the bedroom before her senses slowly kicked back in. The phone was ringing. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, then groaned. She'd finally fallen asleep a half hour before. Well, more like lost consciousness to be honest. And it looked like that half hour was all the sleep she was going to get.

With a sigh she walked over to the nightstand, squinting at the I.D. _Gibbs_. Her aggravation gave way to confusion. She wasn't on Agent Gibbs' team anymore; he had no reason to be calling her. A gasp caught in her throat. Unless he knew...but she shook her head. She'd worked right under his nose for months and he hadn't caught on; she doubted the man had suddenly grown a brain in the last two days. The thought made her smile. He definitely wasn't as clever as everyone at NCIS liked to claim. Still smiling, she reached for the receiver.

"Agent Lee."

"Hey, Michelle, did I wake you?"

The muscles in her hand relaxed, sending the phone slamming to the carpet. Shaking, Michelle picked it up. "Who is this?"

"Ah, come on, Michelle. I'm hurt. Four months of working together and you don't recognize my voice?"

She shook her head. "I think you've got the wrong..."

"Oh, no, no, no." The man on the other end quickly cut her off. "I'm talking to the right person. Special Agent Michelle Kexin Lee, born August 8, 1981. Joined NCIS May, 2006 and spent four months working under Agent Anthony DiNozzo on the Major Case Response Team. Reassigned to the Legal Department in..."

"All right, shut up!"

"...October, 2006." The man continued talking as though she hadn't even spoken. "Reassigned again to work under Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, May 2008 on the Major Case Response Team. Reassigned again in September, 2008, after framing fellow NCIS agent Brent Langer―A.K.A. me―for treason and killing him in cold blood."

"I said, shut up!" Her voice had risen to a shriek and she struggled to bring it under control. "What do you want?"

"Aw, now I'm really hurt, Michelle." Langer's voice was as sweet as antifreeze. "I thought when someone died everyone begged for the last chance to say something to them that they hadn't gotten the chance to say. Now here I'm giving you that chance and you're just throwing it away?"

"Look, you bastard! I don't know what kind of sick freak you are, or why you're doing this, but drop dead!" Michelle slammed the receiver back down into the phone. "And stay dead!"

XXXXX

"We need to talk."

Palmer looked up in surprise, before rolling his eyes. "With what you blabbed during the investigation the other day?" He pushed the drawer back into the cooler with a smooth chuckle. "I don't think so. Not now and not any other time on the Navy Yard."

"That wasn't a request, Jim," Michelle shot back. "The elevator. Now."

Once the emergency switch had been flipped, Palmer turned to face her, his expression both amused and angry. "You really have been on Agent Gibbs' team too long."

"Save the humor, Jimmy. You're not all that funny. In fact, you never have been."

"Ohhhh." His eyes flashed dangerously. "You really are in a feisty mood today, aren't you?" He walked slowly around her, then leaned in next to her ear from behind. "What's the matter, Michelle? Haunted by the memory of that agent you killed?" His voice rose into a mocking sing-song. "Your team-mate?"

Michelle whirled around to face him. "Oh, you'd know, wouldn't you?" she spat. "You really are a fine piece of work. I'd heard about all your intimidation techniques, but I didn't think even you would stoop to that level."

"Excuse me, but you want to talk about stooping to levels?" Palmer raised his eyebrow. "What about the way you folded in Interrogation?"

"Oh, no," she said, laughing bitterly. "You really are stupid if you expect me to believe in a ghost."

"I'm _not_ stupid." Palmer shoved Michelle against the back wall, his hand clenched around her throat. "And that is what this plan is going to prove." His voice had changed from a venomous threat and was now sickly positive. "If everyone just plays their part."

He smiled sweetly at her. "And as you said, Michelle, you know what happens when people don't play their parts. "Don't you, Michelle? People like Kate Todd."

Michelle's eyes widened briefly in spite of herself and Palmer chuckled. "What's the matter, Michelle? I thought you said you knew what I'd done to the others."

"Ari Haswari killed Kate," Michelle said with all the bravado she could muster.

"Ari Haswari was a loose cannon who came in handy." Palmer's voice hardened. "His hatred towards Gibbs and everyone else in his miserable life made him vulnerable to a few well-placed suggestions. And blind to the fact that he was receiving them. He probably died thinking the whole thing was his idea."

Palmer was so focused on relating his achievements with Al Qaeda that his grip had slackened. Michelle quickly slid past him and to the other side of the elevator. "You really expect me to believe you had Agent Todd ready to cooperate with you?"

Palmer snorted. "If she'd been willing to cooperate, we'd have had no reason to kill her. No. she was coming too close to catching on. To realizing I wasn't the idiot I pretended to be." His eyes grew reflective, almost thoughtful. "You know, when I think back to those last two days, I think she knew there was no way out for her." He shifted his gaze to Michelle. "Just like there won't be for you."

He stepped closer to her and she quickly resumed her glare. "Save it. I started this mission and I intend to complete it." She flipped the switch and the elevator heaved its way back to life. "But when this is over, I never want to see you or NCIS again in my life."

The doors opened at the squadroom and both quickly exited without a glance in one another's direction. Palmer headed right, planning to take the stairs near interrogation, while Michelle started forward. She'd just reached the stairs to the third level when her cell phone rang. The I.D. showed Palmer's name and she groaned, then flipped it open. "Now what?"

"So, did you think of anything you wanted to say?" Brent Langer's cheerful voice came over the phone.

"I just told you, Jimmy," Michelle snapped. "Don't even try this ghost crap with me."

Langer chuckled. "I'm not Jimmy."

"Oh, you think you're so freaking..."

"See for yourself. He's across the room, chatting up one of the Intel analysts."

Michelle twisted around, peering through the stair railing. Sure enough, Palmer was standing near the Most Wanted Wall, leaning on one of the partition walls. There was no sign of a cell phone. Michelle's legs trembled and she leaned against the wall, struggling to remain upright. "What do you want?" she whispered.

Langer's voice was slow, like he was speaking to a particularly stupid younger sibling. "Did you think of anything you'd have liked to say to me?"

"What would I want to say to you?" Michelle asked, her voice trembling. There was a snort on the other end of the line.

"Oh, I don't know. Why not start with an apology for shooting me to death?" His voice rose with every word. "For making everyone believe I betrayed my country."

"Please..." Tears streamed down Michelle's cheeks. "I can't talk about this right now."

"It is sort of conspicuous back here, isn't it?"

"Back here..." Michelle spun around.

"Watch it!" The order was so sharp she instinctively jumped back. "I'm not used to this whole 'people-walking-through-you' thing yet."

Michelle backed rapidly across to the opposite wall. "Please...I'll do...say...anything...just...not...not here."

"Very well. I'll call you at home. Tonight. 8:00." He gave an eerie chuckle. "Don't be late, Michelle."

"I won't. I won't." She backed towards the elevator. "I promise." The line went dead and she bolted down the hall towards the ladies' room, one hand clapped over her mouth.

XXXXX

By the time 8:00 fell, Michelle was sitting curled up in a corner of the couch, her entire body shaking. One hand gripped the phone as tears trickled down her cheeks. This wasn't ― couldn't ― be happening.

The clock turned to 8:01, then 8:02. Michelle let herself feel a tiny flicker of hope. Maybe he wasn't going to call. 8:03, 8:04...Michelle slowly began to uncurl herself from the couch. 8:05...

The phone rang.

Michelle fell back with a scream that gave way to sobs. The I.D. read "Brent Langer". Closing her eyes, she picked it up. "Hello."

"Are you crying, Michelle?" Langer's voice was low, almost seductive. "You cried that night, too. I heard you. You sobbed in Gibbs' arms, telling him all about how I'd pulled my weapon and tried to kill you, how you were forced to shoot me in self defense."

"I lied to him." Michelle's voice was barely above a whisper. "I told him you'd tried to kill me but really I'd shot you so that you couldn't arrest me."

"I cried that night too, Michelle," Langer said softly. "In those last few seconds, when the pain was overwhelming, when my chest was hurting so much I couldn't breathe. Did you hear me?"

"No, I'm sorry." Michelle broke into a fresh round of sobs. "I'm so sorry."

"Let it out, Michelle," he soothed. "Just let it out."

"I knew that both you and Daniel would be cleared and I couldn't let the focus come back to me." She was sobbing almost too hard to talk. "And I knew you'd never be able to resist investigating for yourself, no matter what Gibbs said."

"Why did you kill me?" Langer sounded like he was in pain. "Why couldn't you just plant the card on me and leave it?"

Michelle closed her eyes tighter. "I couldn't have you able to say anything to defend yourself."

"What about Gibbs?" Langer asked her. "You watched me face him and know he actually thought I could have done it and you didn't say a word. You let me _die_, knowing one of my best friends believed I betrayed my country."

"I'll tell him." Michelle's sobs were coming in gasps now. "I'll tell everyone at NCIS. It wasn't you. I'll tell them everything I did. And everything about Jimmy. And how we both lied. And how I'm so, so, sorry." She rocked back and forth, one arm wrapped tightly around herself. "Brent, I'm so sorry."

A knock at the door made her jump. Instinctively, she curled in tighter. "There's someone at the door," she whispered.

"I know. It's me, Michelle." She let out a shriek. "I want you to come to the door and tell me everything again, to my face. And then I promise, I'll never bother you again."

"I can't," she whispered. The knock came again, harder. "Oh, please, I can't."

"You have to, Michelle," Langer told her. "Come out and tell me. I'm not going to go away."

Michele slowly uncurled her legs, then struggled to her feet. Almost immediately her strength gave way and she fell back against the couch. "Please. Please." Her voice came in ragged gasps. "I can't do this. Please don't make me do this."

"Come out, Michelle." The knock came again. "Or I'm coming in."

Sobbing, Michelle got to her feet again and took a step. Immediately her balance gave way again and she fell forward.

The knock came again at the door. "I'm coming, I'm coming." Inch by inch she crawled across the floor. The knock came at regular intervals, causing her to flinch each time. Finally she reached the door. With trembling hands she slid back the lock, then slowly pulled the door open.

"NCIS!" Michelle fell back with a scream. In front of her stood Gibbs, Ziva, McGee, and Director Vance, all with their weapons drawn.

"Don't move, Lee," Gibbs ordered. "You're under arrest for murder, espionage, and treason against the U.S. government." He looked over his shoulder. "Cuff her."

"Gladly!" Michelle screamed again as McGee stepped aside and Brent Langer walked towards her, a satisfied smirk on his face. He was dressed in the same clothes he'd worn the night he was killed and Michelle could see the bloodstain across his chest.

"And Langer," Gibbs ordered. "Take that thing out."

"On it, Boss." Michelle's horror gave way to disbelief as Langer reached into his shirt and pulled out a spent blood pack. He tossed it to the side, then walked up and stood over her, grinning in amusement. "What's the matter, Michelle? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

XXXXX

"Okay, here it comes," McGee said, leaning forward. "Wait for it...wait for it...there!" The security camera showed Michelle jump back, sure the ghost of Langer was in front of her. Ziva, McGee, and Langer all burst into laughter.

McGee looked over at Langer. "I still can't believe you made her think she'd walked right through you."

The other agent snickered. "It was just too hard to resist ― watching her on the security feed like this."

"You've got an ill sense of humor, you know that?" Langer looked at Ziva blankly.

"_Sick_ sense, Ziva," McGee corrected. She looked at him in confusion.

"It's the same thing." The two men exchanged looks.

"What's the same thing, Officer David?" All three agents jumped as Gibbs and Director Vance entered the squadroom.

"Saying someone has a sick sense of humor and an ill sense of humor," Ziva answered. Director Vance looked taken aback. "Well, it is."

"Uh-huh." He looked meaningfully over at the plasma screen. "I admire the results, Agent Langer, but don't you think making Agent Lee believe she was talking to a ghost was taking things a little too far?"

"Uh, Leon?" Gibbs said quietly. "Do you remember Budapest?"

"Then again, if you betray your country, you shouldn't expect to be treated with kid gloves," the Director said smoothly.

"There's one thing I still don't understand," Ziva spoke up. "I thought you had cleared Agent Lee that afternoon. What changed your mind?"

"Ducky," Gibbs said simply. "He alerted us to the fact that on one of the dates Agent Lee and Palmer were supposedly having a romantic tryst in the basement, Palmer was actually with him at a pathology conference in San Diego."

"Palmer didn't take that news all that well," McGee added wryly. "He was swearing during the entire ride to Lock-up."

"Ducky's already talked to Gerald, and he's agreed to come back," Gibbs said. "He said life at the hospital morgue was getting a little dull."

"Speaking of reunions." The Director handed Langer a file. "Your new orders. After your ribs heal next month I'm putting you back with another of your former teammates."

Langer's eyes widened in horror. "Not Keating?"

The Director chuckled. "Stan Burley' team at the Pentagon."

"So I'm staying in D.C.?" Langer shot a sidelong glance at Ziva.

"For the time being."

"Thank you, Sir." He stole another glance at Ziva. "Uh, speaking of my ribs ― they are getting kind of sore. I should probably call it a night."

"Uh, I should get going too," Ziva said quickly. "I haven't quite finished unpacking my things."

Once in the elevator, Langer looked at her. "Would I have the ghost of a chance of getting you to go out to dinner?"


End file.
